To Absent Friends
by SeaweedWrites
Summary: This is the second of my 'East Wind' fics. It's from Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade's perspective. Lestrade takes it upon himself to break the terrible news to Mrs. Hudson, hoping to lessen the grief that John Watson is already going through. It takes place just after the first fic, "Brother Mine". But you don't necessarily have to read that first.


I had an idea a while ago to write in a bit of an alternative time line. This story deviates at the end of "The Reichenbach Fall". And it all starts with the premise of 'What if Sherlock really did die?'

My idea is to write different stories in this universe dealing with the immediate aftermath of Sherlock jumping from the stop of St. Barts. Each story will be told from the perspective of a different character, and it will be different moments in time, so I wont overlap and repeat.

It may change but for now, all the stories will be set in the time from right after the fall until shortly after the funeral.

So I am calling this my 'East Wind' Universe, and all the fics that are written in it will be marked that they are a part of it.

This is the second of my 'East Wind' fics. It's from Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade's perspective.

Lestrade takes it upon himself to break the terrible news to Mrs. Hudson, hoping to lessen the grief that John Watson is already going through.

It takes place just after the first fic, "Brother Mine". But you don't necessarily have to read that first.

888888888888

888888888888

He felt bad for thinking it, but he was rather glad to get out of that cold, stuffy morgue. Detective Inspector Lestrade walked as quickly as he could down the wide and impressively empty hallway, through the double doors, and out into the bright sunlight. He blinked a couple of times as his eyes adjusted. He hadn't realized how dark it had been in there.

His mind was a million miles away when Detective Donovan came up to him. She was saying something, but his brain wouldn't let him process the words.

"I... have to go tell a next of kin." He made an excuse and started to turn away, hoping that it would be enough to get her off his back.

"Sherlock had another next of kin?" She asked. "I thought there was only his brother."

"Well, she's close enough." That was the only explanation that he gave. He wasn't sure if it was what he said, or the look on his face, but she finally did back down, to his utter relief.

"You are in charge, Detective. You can take it from here, right?"

"Yes sir."

"Thank you."

Without saying another word, he turned and headed to his car.

What was a 15 minute drive seemed more like 15 hours. As he drove, he rehearsed what he was going to say in his head. With everything he tried, nothing sounded good. It was obvious there was no way ro ease the pain of what he was about tell this poor woman.

Lestrade hoped that he was making the right choice. He figured that as soon as John was done at the morgue, he would come back and tell Mrs. Hudson what happened. He hoped that he was sparing John more pain by telling her himself. There was always the chance that John would be upset, but the Detective Inspector was doing this for what he thought were the right reasons.

Finally he pulled up to Baker Street and parked. Lestrade got out, straightened his jacket, and took a long, deep breath. He had had to break terrible news to many other people before. It was never easy, but he had learned to separate his feelings from his responsibility.

This time, it wasn't so easy.

Lestrade banged the knocker a few times. It took a moment before Mrs. Hudson opened the door, her face brightening as she saw his face.

"Detective Inspector!" She said happily. "I'm sorry, but the boys are out right now. You can leave them a note if you'd..." She stopped when she saw the look on his face. "Is... everything OK?"

"Umm, may I come in, Mrs. Hudson? I'd like to talk to you for a moment."

"Of course." The smile fell from her face. She opened the door and he followed her into her flat.

"Tea?"

"Uh, no thanks. If we could just, umm, sit down." He pulled her seat back for her, and then sat down across from her.

"Mrs. Hudson, there's.. no.. easy way to say this." Lestrade took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment. "Sherlock Holmes. Well.. he.. " He ran his hand through his short hair. It was best just to say it, to get it over with quickly.

"He.. jumped off the roof of St. Barts." He heard the audible gasp, but he continued. He had to. "He... he didn't make it. I'm.. I'm really sorry."

It had taken every bit of his willpower to keep his voice calm. He had known and worked with Sherlock for over 5 years, and he was devastated as well, but he needed to be the professional here. She needed a shoulder to cry on, and he was going to be it.

Slowly, he stood up, and walked over to her, giving her a light hug, to make sure that it was OK. She leaned on his chest and started to cry. All he could do was gently pat her shoulder and say "It's alright, we are all going to miss him."

After a few moments, she looked up at him with a tear-streaked face. "What about John?"

"He knows." That was all Lestrade said. She didn't need to know that John had witnessed the jump and the gory aftermath. If he wanted to tell her at another time, that was his choice.

That was how John Watson found them a short time later- Lestrade gently letting Mrs. Hudson cry into his jacket. A wave of relief hit him. He had no idea how he was even going to tell her. He wasn't even sure that he had the strength to go back to the flat. But he knew that even if he couldn't stay, he still had to tell her. She had the right to know before she found out some other, terrible way, like the telly or the newspaper.

"Greg. Mrs. Hudson." They both looked up in surprise to see John standing there, red eyed and stoic faced.

"John, dear." Mrs Hudson walked over to him and gave him a very tight hug. "How.. are you?"

For a moment, he wasn't sure what to say. "I.. Don't know." John shrugged slightly. It was an honest answer. Right now, he really had no idea what to think about anything. His whole world had just been turned upside down.

Lestrade headed towards the door. He knew that they needed to grieve on their own. He tried to step out quietly, but he forgot about a creaky loose floorboard on the way to the door.

"Greg?" He froze and let out a little breath he didn't even know that he was holding.

"You guys don't need me." He said, softly. For the first time, he was really letting his emotions get to him. This wasn't just some random death. This was Sherlock bloody Holmes.

"Thank you." John gave him a sad smile.

"I'll... be in touch." He nodded his head to them and headed out the door before his facade cracked.

Somehow or another, he made it to the street that his flat was on. He parked, but instead of going inside, he walked across the street to the pub that was so conveniently close. Sometimes he wondered if it had just been serendipitous, or if that was part of the reason he chose to live there. But he shrugged that thought off quickly.

Lestrade walked in the door of the pub and took his normal spot at the bar.

"Greg."

"Harry."

"Your regular?"

"Please."

Harry poured a pint of stout and handed it to Lestrade. "You look like someone ran over your dog. Are you alright?"

"No. A... " He paused for a second. Was Sherlock ever really a friend? He was never sure what to call the man. A friend? An acquaintance? A coworker? He guessed that would work best. "... A coworker of mine died."

"Oh." His face sunk. Harry felt bad about the 'dead dog' comment. "I'm really sorry. First pint's on me."

"Thanks." Lestrade managed a small, sad smile.

"To absent friends." He raised his glass, not to anyone in particular around him.

"To absent friends." Harry replied, then went back to cleaning the bar.


End file.
